


routines and risks

by Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, One Shot, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, ages corrected so they are the same age, very slight hint of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22778116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/pseuds/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome
Summary: Cassian finds comfort in routine, in calculated risks, and in telling her the simplest of words to hide the deepest of emotions.
Relationships: Cassian Andor & Bail Organa, Cassian Andor/Leia Organa
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	routines and risks

At some point in time, Cassian begins saying it. It comes naturally, more naturally than most things a spy ever says, because it comes from the small part of his heart he hasn’t managed to lock away. For a spy, when so much of his life is spent at night, in the shadows and the silence, spent mired in lies and half-truths, that saying something true is easier when that thing said is short, simple, concise.

He says it as two words, instead of the poetry the emotions probably deserve. In war, there is no time for poetry.

And it comes, as many things come to him, from long practice and repetition, from the comfort of a routine and the peace of a place to call home. Their rooms are in the same long hall, deep in the Massassi temple, away from the bustle of the base, as benefits both of their need for quiet, and one of them, their need for safety.

Cassian is one of the reasons Leia is safe, there in her small quarters next door to her father’s. He knows that is why they let a simple spy, not even a captain yet, stay so close to a senator and a princess.

Because Cassian wakes at any movement, any hint of a threat. If something was to come to this quiet hallway, he would be the first to know, and he, along with Kaytu (who after all, needs no sleep) would dispatch the threat soundly.

Meanwhile, the princess would sleep, peacefully, as she should. She risks enough, being here, that she does not need to risk her life each night.

That day never happens. Instead, the routine of walking together grows more comfortable with each passing day, until finally, he says it.

“Good night, princess.” It is the first thing he has ever spoken directly to her. Cassian has worked with her father numerous times, knows Bail well enough to call him by his name, but addressing the princess so directly has always seemed like a far greater risk.

She pauses at her doorway, smiling up at him. Her blue dress ripples around her, the fine silk rustling with each breath. It’s blue, like a fresh-meltwater-lake, back on Fest, and he thinks of telling her that too, that it’s a beautiful color.

But he doesn’t. He remains silent, until she speaks. “Good night.”

It takes her four nights to ask him to call her Leia.

It takes two more weeks for him to do so.

* * *

A month passes. Cassian’s days are busy with the sketching out of a plot to capture details on the Empire’s supposed super-weapon, Leia’s are occupied with political matters.

And yet, whenever she stays on Yavin IV, they both find time to make the walk down the hallway, together.

“Would it be easier if I moved my quarters?” Bail asks, his arms folded, but his smile too wide for any amount of paternal threat to appear.

“Easier to what?” Cassian blinks.

“To tell her good night.”

“I do that already.”

That makes Bail laugh, a deep rolling chuckle that could make anyone, even Cassian, crack a smile to match the joviality. Bail, somehow, conjures a sense of comfort in Cassian's heart, eases the fears that linger in the shadows there. It's the sort of laugh that most can only offer in peace time, but Bail offers it now, in war, just as easily. He says with a smile, “Some things, Lieutenant Andor, are not said with words.”

* * *

It takes Cassian a while to understand what Bail had meant. He mulls it over, as he readies the U-Wing, as he briefs Kaytu on the mission, and only, when it is minutes before he has to leave, does he understand. It is a risk, he thinks, to care, and a greater risk to care enough that someone like Bail notices.

Realization hits him like a punch to the jaw as Leia approaches him. She’s dressed in a white diplomatic robe, her hood pulled up to hide her chestnut hair. She looks beautiful, but concerned. “Cassian,” she begins. Hesitates. She’s not the type to tell him not to take a mission, no matter how dangerous. Instead, all she says is, “may the Force be with you.”

Those few words, so different from their usual routine are enough to spur him into action. He steps forward. She lifts her gaze to stare up at him with warm, soft eyes. He doesn’t know if those eyes will ever look at him the same, after he takes this mission.

He can’t bear to think of that. Can’t even find those two words he always says to her. It is too risky, he knows, to speak of all that he keeps hidden, in a time like this. Instead, his arms wrap around her shoulders and he holds her for a long, long moment.

Nothing else is said. They have no routine for this, no words for all these new emotions that threaten to disrupt every law that governs their lives.

But the routine of the Rebellion is stronger by far and they seperate, each to their own mission.

* * *

When he wakes in the med bay on a transport ship, he is first aware of how much pain he is in, followed suddenly by the realization that he must be alive. He had gambled, he had seized every risk, and somehow, he lives.

And he is alive, then, he is alone.

The knowledge chills him. His fingers reach out, grapsing, for something to hold on to, for someone to cling to, though that person must be gone, for him to be here, alive and alone.

His hand finds another’s.

It’s Leia, sitting by the side of his bed. she doesn't look like a princess. Not now. She wears a Rebel soldier's uniform, and there are weary shadows on her face. Her fingers capture his, hold his hand, saying nothing when she feels him tremble. “I’m here,” she says.

Those two words become their new routine. A hard routine, won by battling to stay alive, on his part, and stay among the living, on her part. Easier for him to give up and surrender to oblivion, perhaps, but she is worth the fight. And for her, it might have been easier to freeze her heart completely, to turn to ice with grief and loss, if not for being needed by him.

She stays as long as she can, each evening, after her duties and before she must rest (something he insists she do, though she protests.) Each evening, she reassures him that she is here.

And he offers her the smallest wish, the simplest reassurance of his own return to reality, too, with two words.

“Good night.”

But, bitterly, he thinks that nothing is good, not any more, just as there is no night, here in the depths of space. The Senator is gone, the Massassi temple is empty, and everyone he knew, everyone but Leia, that he has ever loved, is gone as well.

* * *

He heals, in body if not in mind, and returns to duty. It keeps him busy, keeps his dark thoughts at bay. The risks of battle make him feel, in those small moments, that he is still alive. That he can still help. He finds new routines, a new order to govern his days on Echo Base.

He avoids Leia, each time they pass in the snow-lined halls.

He avoids her and feels the guilt grow heavier on his shoulders. They sleep only a few rooms apart and yet, he tries hard to keep her light-years from him. Because he knows now what he did not in that medbay. He knows that Alderaan fell and it is his fault.

Finally, she asks him, one night, when he tries to pass by her as silently as a shadow. “Would it be easier if I move my rooms?”

He freezes.

She folds her arms. “If you do not wish to speak to me, I will relocate.”

“It is you who shouldn’t speak to me.” His words are cold but his emotions stay locked away. It is too risky to give into them, to admit to her that he still cares, that he still wishes he could... that he has played out that last moment when they both were on Yavin IV countless times, and wished it had gone differently, countless times. The princess, he thinks, is all together too much of a risk for him to deal with.

“Don’t be such a laser brained fool, Commander Andor,” she retorts, before spinning on her heel, slamming her door behind her.

For the first time in an age, he tries out those words again. “Good night, Leia.”

From behind the door, a small sob escapes her.

He goes to her then, pressing his palm to the door and finding it was coded for his access, and perhaps always has been. He holds here, there on the snowy floor, holds her and rocks her and wishes he knew the words to offer her comfort.

“Good night,” he says, simply. As if those two words could heal a lifetime of hurt in both their hearts. As if those words could rebuild all that had been lost.

“Cassian,” Leia begins, pushing herself up.

“Good night,’ he says, repeating the phrase as if it was enough of a mantra to turn back time, to undo all that has been done.

Her lips wobble. The smallest of cracks shows in her icy calm, revealing the emotional woman beneath the mask.

“Is that all?” she asks him.

Words aren’t enough. Hadn’t that been told to him, a lifetime ago? He hesitates, only a moment longer. Their breath mingles and freezes in the Hoth air. Then, he kisses her. His lips are soft against her, shy, tentative, until she responds in turn, running her fingers through his hair, pressing against him in her need for connection.

They stay like that a while longer. Neither of them speaking, both of them finding new ways to show the other all they felt. Eventually, they move to her bed, and hold each other as if the other was all that was left in the galaxy for them.

In some ways, that is true.

When time and tears pass, and joy replaces grief in both their eyes, finally, Leia yawns, resting her head against his chest. “You make me feel safe,” she tells him. As if he can keep her safe now, when he had failed to keep her safe before. When she had been captured, he had been powerless. But now?

Things were different now, perhaps, and he would trust her that she did not say things she did not mean.

“Good night,” he says softly.

* * *

At some point in time, he stops saying it. The risks fade and so does the need to say it. There is less a chance there won't be a tomorrow for them, less a risk of loss now than ever before

He’s not sure how or when it occurs, only that his routine has adapted so that it blends seamlessly with hers. Cassian only knows that there is a surety in their lives now, a rhythm brought to them by the end of war (though not the end of work) and a hard-earned trust between them.

Cassian knows, too, that the best, simplest peace found by both himself and by Leia is the peace they find together, resting in bed.

No longer do they go to seperate rooms, or separate missions.

No longer do they keep their thoughts secret from each other, and their yearnings for the other’s touch now is a gift met daily. If the other’s love had once been all that remained in the galaxy for them, that love has now grown to encompass their friends, their chosen family, their new home.

And their routine has shifted, to allow them all the time they need to spend with that family.

So instead of saying goodnight, because sometimes she is the first to bed, tired after a day of treaty-making or Jedi-training, or because sometimes he stays to watch Poe until his parents return from market, he tells her good morning, greeting her with a kiss and a warm cup of caff at dawn.

It is fitting, he thinks, to find a new dawn after spending so much of his life in the darkness of the night.

And each time he says it, Leia knows, as she has known for a long time, that he means, “I love you.”

She replies with the same words, or sometimes, no words at all, finding a kiss to still be the best form of communication. Leia is safe now, in their new home, comfortable in their routine, and above all, she is happy with Cassian at her side every morning, when she wakes. There are no risks, not any more, no danger that comes from loving another.

This routine, they both think, is their favorite one of all.


End file.
